


Death in London and The Winchesters are there

by another_crack_in_time_and_space (orphan_account)



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/another_crack_in_time_and_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragic loss for John, Sherlock calls in some favors from some old companions who are rather active in avoiding death. The Doctor and The Winchesters team up to help the detective and soon find more trouble than they started with</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heres how the trouble starts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, alright, first fanfiction on this site, yay wow such cool. Hope you guys like it, have fun.

 It had been too long. Too long had he gone without seeing the place, too long without seeing him. He had lied to his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, about nothing changing. But in Johns defense there had been the baby and his new wife. Now that they were gone and buried after a horrific childbirth John found he couldn't really be alone again.

The man, not much older than when Sherlock had come back about a year ago, found it difficult to make it up the stairs. His greif aged him more than his misplaced mustache. His hand gripped the worn wooden rail as he carried on toward the door. The wood was both a welcome and a taunt. “I knew you'd be back” it seemed to say. “Welcome home”

John hadn't told Sherlock of his family's passing. Really only those who needed to know did. But he knew his friend would deduce it from his heavy footsteps, or something else as small and miniscule.

Finally at the top of the flight John took a breath and knocked on the door. There was heavy silence and the man shut his worn eyes. 'Please, for the love of God, be in' John thought to himself as he continued to knock. After a few minutes there was a sound like someone falling off a couch and the sure confident footsteps that could only belong to Sherlock

“What is it, I'm Busy” He snapped throwing open the door. His friend was clad in his usual dressing robe and sleep clothes he probably hadn't changed out of from the previous night. He looked so familiar and yet so a lie. John shrinked back from him. It was like a bright light on a migraine, Sherlock was. After a few seconds of awkward silence Sherlock realized it was not a client standing at his door.

“John?” he asked, hand clenching to white knuckled on the side of the door. “What is it, whats wrong? Why are you here?” Sherlock held almost a childlike quality in his worry for John, a young boy who didn't know why his parents were ill. His blue eyes were round and he'd forgotten all manners in this sort of thing.

“Sherlock, Hi, I know its been a while” John began, voice incredibly weak and pitiful. The soldier started again. “I wanted to say-”

“What happened to you? Where's Mary?” Sherlock interrupted. The man furrowed his brow. “Why isn't she here, she always comes, she loves to come.” Each word was like a punch to John who had been, for the most part, trying to drown his late wife’s memory. He wasn't good with memory. John shut his eyes again and sucked in his gut.  
“Sherlock, please” John began. “Just let me in, I'll explain.”

There was a tense moment of silence before Sherlock moved from the door way. When John went forward it was with a limp, and he went right to the kitchen. Above the kettle was the advil and he needed some if he was going to get through this story with this headache. He ignored Sherlock's offer for tea. Tea was Mary's place on Sunday. He couldn't think about that. John turned after dry swallowing the pill and sat in his own armchair. Sherlock perched on the edge of the table and waited.

“uh, Sherlock....I've come to you today with...some news.” John said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. His heart picked up speed and it became harder for him to breathe. “Sherlock, Mary couldn't come because...” tears sprung up in his eyes and try as he may to hide them, the detective saw them and knew instinctively what had happened, but he let john continue, hoping this one deduction was wrong. “Mary's dead. And so is the baby.” John finally coughed out. “I'm barely holding on, I'm all alone Sherlock. I don't know what to do.”

Sherlock was winded. He liked Mary. Loved Mary. She was the only one John ever really needed or deserved. The baby was added despair. It hadn't needed to die so young. These deaths rattled him almost more than seeing Johns mourning first hand.

Don't get involved

“Stop it” Sherlock said out loud. “What?” John gasped, fighting his tears. “No nothing, not you. I am...truly sorry John. Truly.” Sherlock said, staying frozen where he was. “What happened, if I may ask?”

John swallowed hard. “Child birth. Hamish's lungs weren't well developed and Mary-” John had to stop for a second before continuing. “Mary couldn't handle the strain.” Sherlock nodded and within minuets found four ways that could have been avoided. Anger began to sprout in him. They could have saved them, but they just let them die, those lazy unequipped doctors. Sherlock knew John had already been through this stage of sadness so for his friends benefit he said “There was nothing you could have done”

“That's a lie Sherlock and we both know it. There was a lot I could have done. I could have been with them, I could have helped the doctors, I could have saved them both. But I didn't.” The fury in John's eyes was fresh and the detective knew the deaths couldnt have been more than two weeks ago. Another question arose from sherlock.   
“You're not here to seek comfort from me.” Sherlock announced. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock” John said bitterly, “since you're so great at that.” Sherlock frowned. “John, no need to take this out on me.” He said. The blonde nodded. “Sorry. Sorry right...I uh...I don't trust myself alone for right now....could you...could you watch me? Let me stay here till...I can..” Sherlock knew what his friend was trying to awkwardly spit out. “Of course John, I vowed that to you and it still stands. I will always be there.” and yet Sherlock didn't move from his perch. He was still working through the deaths.

“Thank you, thanks, Sherlock...I'm going to go..lie down.” He said. Sherlock nodded and knew that john would make it up to his bedroom fine, if slowly. Sherlock had work to do. He needed to call in some favors.


	2. Some favors were called

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you honestly mad!?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, hello there. Did not expect to see you so soon. What a nice surprise.

 The Doctor was bent over his console when the phone began to rattle. He gave a labored sigh and straightened up. Having to answer his own phone? Honestly, he needed an assistant the way the world asked him for help. Well he has a companion but Clara was on holiday. Something about Souffles and a french model.

Right

Phone

Abandoning his fiddling, The Doctor walked with his usual pride to the TARDIS doors, sticking his floppy head out into the year 3052 on the tropical shore of Freedonia. Actual planet. He checked. Grabbing the phone he would the cord out long enough to reach the console room and disappeared back into his ship.

“Hello!” The Doctor chimed, fixing the bowtie at his neck  
“Doctor.” a calm voice responded pleasantly. The Doctor's shoulders slumped and worry formed in his gut

“You prefer to text, Sherlock” Eleven said back. Sherlock laughed at this.

“You don't have a mobile” he pointed out. 'Now you sound like River' The Doctor thought bitterly.

“Right,” The Doctor said with false cheer. “How have you been? Enjoying not being dead?” The last bit came out a bit harsher than Eleven intended but Sherlock would have picked up on his discontent anyway.

“Quite pleasant. Enjoying taking hostages and escaping responsibility?” Sherlock retorted, not fooled by the alien.

“Oi! If you called once in a while you'd know I'm not running away from responsibility. And they're not hostages, they're invited. So are you, if you've forgotten, so don't make me rethink that. What do you need Sherlock?”

“A favor” he said simply, as if that was a passable answer for the timelord.

“What for? I don't owe you.” Eleven replied hotly, He leaned back on his console and checked some screens to distract himself.

“”That's where you're wrong. Who got rid of Moriarty's network? I did. That means that your future is safe. I believe you said I stopped how many warlords was it? 6?” Sherlock's voice had dropped to subzero temperatures. The Doctor swallowed.

“Right fine, whatever, whats the favor?” He asked, though unsure if he wanted the answer

“I need to go back in time. Only a few weeks. I have to fix something.”

“Sherlock” The doctor warned, crossing his legs flamboyantly and adopting his best serious tone “You know the dangers of messing about with time streams. I got you back in time to take down some of Moriarty's men but-”

“Please Doctor.” Sherlock asked, almost pleaded. “If not for me, then for John”

“What's John got to do with this? What's happened?” Eleven asked focrefully, his hands clenched into fists. He quite liked John and had recognized instantly that Sherlock loved him. This was important.

“Mary's gone. And the baby. Dead. I need you to help me get them back.” the detective stated bluntly.  
The request hit the Doctor like a train. How could Sherlock even think this was okay, after the Doctor had lost so many. It was insulting.

“Are you honestly mad!? You can't just bring them back, they aren't lost toys!” Anger compelled the Doctor to smash his fist into the console. “If you save them then John never comes to you for help. It couldn't ever work.”

“It would!” Sherlock shouted back, disregarding his sleeping companion upstairs. “It would work because I'd make it work!”

John had often joked that Sherlock was like a child but the Doctor never saw it more clearly than this. Sherlock was desperate to appease his friend, to bring back Mary. The problem was Sherlock was a desperate child with the means to make his foolish plan work.

“Goodbye Sherlock” The Doctor said softly, letting mercy take his anger from him. With sadness he hung up the phone and returned to his work.

With a dismissive click Sherlock found himself quite stunned in the rooms at Baker Street. He had thought the Doctor, of all others, would understand the best. With a frustrated sigh he put down his mobile and began formulating a new plan.

After two nicotine patches and some angry muttering Sherlock's phone rang again. He answered expectantly.

“If you did this, how would you go about it?” The doctor asked, pure curiosity in his voice. Sherlock smiled.

“Elementary, my dear Doctor”


	3. Something happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes, Fake Genius

 With a crack and a wobble the TARDIS touched down outside Saint Bart's Hospital. Sherlock avoided looking up when he exited the phone box, adopting a grim face. The Doctor did that duty for him. His thoughts traveled to that day. He had been there, at Sherlocks request. He had seen the betrayl lay out like a soap opera. The Doctor even had his own hand in it, disguised as part of the homeless network. John's face haunted him for weeks after.

The day was frigid for Febuary. The men walked without a word, Sherlock's signature coat lapels turned up to the cold. Eleven kept tossing him looks from the corner of his eye but the detective never noticed. The Doctor couldn't help but regret agreeing to help Sherlock with his scheme. It went against almost all of his morals. But the man was dead set, pertinacious to a fault. Sherlock clutched the psychic paper in his pocket. He had to be the hero, just this once.

Eleven cleared his throat. “So got the plan then?” he asked, more nerves in his voice than he intended. The plan Sherlock pitched was mad. So mad it might work.

“Of course. I sneak in, use the psychic paper when I need to, get into surgery, and save Mary and Hamish when they crash.” he replied curtly. He couldn't afford to lose and was currently pulling up all his information on the human body and surgery.

Through an unlocked door Sherlock and The Doctor sneak in, back to back. They nicked some scrubs and went out on the floor. Dread began to build up in The Doctors gut. He almost grabbed his friend to turn him around. But even the TimeLord knew he couldn't change his path. Sherlock had looked into the specifics of when and where the surgery was and The Doctor had gotten them there with about half an hour to spare till the operation.

“Don't get caught” Sherlock hissed. “Don't mess this up” Eleven sniffed in offense and put his hands up in an alarmingly young gesture. “I wont” he assured, “But you might, looking so iconic. Couldn't come up with a better disguise, world class detective?”

Sherlock simply scowled. This was not well thought out, no, but he didn't want to dwell on what that might cause. “I'm fine, I know what I'm doing” Sherlock lied. He'd done that so much recently. “The rooms up here and we have about twenty minutes. I need to get in there. Stay out here and watch. Keep John busy, he'll recognize me instantly.” Before The Doctor could respond Sherlock was behind the large doors.

“Always running off, he'd make a bloody good companion.” Eleven said bitterly and crossed his arms, leaning lazily on the wall and settled into wait.

 

Inside the room Sherlock blended in seamlessly, just another nurse. His knowledge clearly was over qualified for something so simple. Mary herself laid half in and out of consciousness, breathing heavily. Her short blonde hair was clamped to her head with sweat and she was only just starting to go into labor. He gritted his teeth and settled in for his moment.

 

An eager nurse popped up at Eleven's elbow, a bright smile on her face. “Hi? What are you doing...uh...” her eyes fell to his name tag. “Matt?” The Doctor cleared his throat. “I'm...uh...waiting, you know? My boyfriend, right, cause I've uh, got one of those, just needs to finish up here before we..go out....on a date...yeah” he finished lamely. The nurse nodded, but didn't look convinced.

 

“Mary, start breathing now, keep 'em deep and even” the doctor said. Sherlock looked at her monitors. All good, for now. Out of no where a hand snapped his. Mary. She looked up at him, and Sherlock for a moment thought she would recognize him. “It hurts.” she wheezed. Mary smiled faintly. “It hurts and I don't know why I didn't expect that.” Worry settled on Sherlock's shoulder. “Mary, breathe. Don't talk. Focus on breathing.”

 

“right,” She says. “But your tag says you're a truama nurse.” She pointed out. “Why are you here, in Maternity?” She batted her eyelashes. “I just said I got off of shift and was waiting for someone.” Eleben snapped, adopting a new persona. He was acting it was okay to be mean. She narrowed her eyes instead of backing away. “Not all truama nurses carry sonic screwdriver” she hissed, gesturing to tip of his sticking out of his pocket. Cold realization settled in him.

 

Things got more tense in the delivery room as Mary flickered in and out of consciousness. “Mary, stay awake” Sherlock urged. “Stay awake to see your beautiful baby. Her smile grew smaller as a nurse screamed “I see a head!” The nurses swarmed on her lower abdemon. Sherlock squared his shoulders, It was time. Just as the thought passed his mind Mary's breath gave out, and she started trying helplessly to breath. “Mary!” Sherlock yelled, to alert the team something was wrong. They were too focused on the baby. Choruses of “Push” came through the room as the grip on Sherlock's hand lessened. As if in an instant the nurses were holding the baby and a heavy silence fell.

 

“How do you know about that!” He hissed, all attention on her. “I've been trained to look. What's the Doctor doing here?” Her eyes were wide with curiosity but a line of worry settled in on her forehead. So she knew of him. She knew wherever he went danger followed.

 

The silence stretched out and the loudest thing in the room seemed to be Sherlock's own heart. Hamish. Beside himself he cried out “Breathe Hamish, God dammit, breathe!” The silence grew and grew till it suffocated. “There's no heartbeat” a nurse called. “He isn't breathing.” The doctor hung his head and in a shaky breath he said “Call time of death. Mary's eyes fluttered open. “My baby, is he out? Where is he?” she asked and the hope in her voice scared Sherlock. Human error. Caring is never an advantage. Her heart was beating way too fast and before anyone could catch it, it gave out. The team surged into action, pulling out defibrillators and Sherlock was shoved aside, still in the closest thing to shock hes ever felt.

 

“Helping a friend” HE said simply as a team charged toward them. The Doctor leaped out of the way as they burst through the doors he had been standing against. He had known, this would happen. “Dammit, Sherlock” Eleven snapped and dove in after them

 

There was shouting but it was all under water. The body of Hamish was still in the room and Sherlock stared at him, the young boy, still covered in his mother. Why had no one put him on respirator, why had no one defibulated him? Why did they let him die? Firm hands grabbed Sherlock's shoulders. “We have to leave, now!” The Doctor cried amid the clamour. Sherlock nodded dumbly and went with him.

 

It wasn't till they were outside that Sherlock fell apart. The sentence itself felt wrong for the doctor to think. Sherlock never fell apart. Sherlock wasn't prone to this. But The Doctor knew why. Sherlock had gotten involved.

The man collapsed to his knees and curled up, arms shut around his mid section. He was quiet and the doctor could have sworn he too stopped breathing. But with sudden animal rage Sherlock threw his head back and screamed, a completely feral Roar of pain. He had let them die. He was responsible for this. He was a failure. He was a murderer. He screamed till his voice gave out, till the sound filled him and broke him. He screamed for everyone to hear.

Sherlock Holmes, The fake genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard to write, since I've never like given birth so if you have some corrections just comment.


	4. And so another course of action was taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd have to save her retroactively

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so short! I promise next chapter will be longer.

 The trial went on about three more times. Sherlock would dive in there with a new plan, sure it would work. But despite every possible caution he undertook, Mary still took her last breath and Hamish refused to even try. Sherlock became increasingly hysterical at the end of each endevor until the fourth one. He walked calmly from the room, face set. It wasn't a good look. It was a look that psychoanalysts look for in serial killers. It chilled The Doctor to the bone and he followed Sherlock without a word.

They changed and left as if nothing had happened, the Doctor in high strung apprehension. Sherlock pulled out his mobile, calm as you please. He looked Eleven evenly in the eye. That's when it hit the Doctor. Sherlock wasn't over it. He was so deep in this obsession he was about to do something very stupid.

“Take me back home” Sherlock demanded. “I no longer require you.” Eleven frowned.

“A please anywhere in there, mr. SmartyPants. And don't toss me about, I tried, Sherlock.” He tried to argue. Sherlock leveled a cold stare and then resumed looking into his mobile.

“Home.” He responded. As tempting as it was Eleven knew he couldn't leave Sherlock here so he ushered the madman into the TARDIS. Sherlock got out of the way as The Doctor scuttled about, fixing up the console for the rapid trip into the future. He didn't say much more as he tried to figure out what it was the detective was about to do.

They landed not twenty minuets later beside Speedy's. Without a good bye Sherlock left, bringing his phone to his ear. The doctor watched him leave before turning around. He honestly didn't have anything left for Sherlock. He'd have to live the rest of his life by figuring it out, The doctor supposed. Not much more he could give him. With more than one second thought Eleven started up the TARDIS again and disappered into the vortex.

 

Meanwhile Sherlock paced his flat agitatedly. None of the phones were picking up and due to the events of the past few weeks Sherlock was far from patient. He tossed his phone on the couch and tried to avoid reflecting on the emotional turmoil of watch Mary's death. Her blank eyes blinded him when he stopped moving for too long and hamish's blue body would haunt his mind for years.

Well, if he couldn't save Mary in the past, he'd have to do it retroactively, he decided. And Sherlock knew just how to do that. As soon as the thought went through his mind his phone rang, a trite American rock song the caller insisted on having as his ring tone.

 

_Carry on my wayward son_

_there'll be peace when you are done_

_lay your weary head to rest_

_don't you cry no more_

 

Before the overly dull guitar solo Sherlock brought the phone to his ear with a grin. “Ah, Dean.” he sighed. “How nice to here from you.”


End file.
